


Stay

by Poose



Series: The Reynolds Affair [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Adultery, Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, F/M, Feelings, Gift Giving, Guilt, Making Out, Married Characters, POV Alternating, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, Slutshaming Alexander Hamilton, Snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please enjoy this beautiful and expensive glass vase which is about to shatter into a thousand tiny and painful shards. (For everyone on tumblr who asked for gross anal, here it is.)</p><p>It bears repeating that this is a fic depicting two consenting adults who are knowingly doing things that are bad for themselves and one another. Please do not read if you're bothered by adultery, as there's nothing redemptive here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rillrill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/gifts).



She’s rehearsed the lie she’s going to tell over and over again in her head so many times that when she at last releases it — late evening on a Tuesday; he’s on the couch, the Marlins are up in the bottom of the eighth, and he’s got a buzz on from beer rather than booze — she's almost surprised at how easily it slides out.

“Hey, babe? Gina asked me to pick up one of her shifts the night before Labor Day, cause she’s going out to Long Island to stay with her sister.”

There’s a base hit, the score ticks higher. James hoots happily at the screen. Next to him, the dog perks her ears up, and then lays them flat.

“Anyways, you remember Gina, right? Said I could crash at her place in between so I can sleep. She's only two blocks from the hospital, no roommate or anything.”

She keeps her face an easy blank; he hasn’t so much as acknowledged that she’s said anything.

“My phone will be on vibrate. I'll be back on Monday afternoon in time for the cookout.” A declaration, not a question, though he still gives no indication that she's spoken. He accepts it, though. The lie holds.

    

 

####

 

He calls instead of Skyping, because if she sees his face then she’ll be sure to know he’s lying. Omissions of truth he can do, no problem, but out and out falsehoods? It’s rare that he even tries. Eliza has a sort of brilliant penetration about her, the ability to detect his moods and his endless defects of self-control even all the way from Albany. _Are you sleeping enough? When was the last time you ate anything green? Are you using again?_ Probably not. Beef and broccoli for lunch on Monday. Just weed, babe, unless coffee counts.

“I can’t make it this weekend,” he lies, fiddling with the extra pair of chopsticks that came with his Chinese delivery. “It’s gonna be a total time crunch after all, and the trains are all oversold anyways.”

“A week ago you said you'd make your deadline,” she says, the disappointment carrying all the way from upstate. “Pretty sure you were bragging about being ahead of schedule."

“Uh,” he replies, and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that's true. I mean,” and here he stumbles to find a new excuse. “I’ll finish in time.” He’s actually already finished. The email has already been written, the _final_final_ PDF attached. “Jimmy wants to take me for lunch on Saturday. A celebration sort of thing.”

Eliza's tone brightens. “Hey, Angie and Joanne are driving up from Connecticut on Saturday. You could meet them and get a ride? When you're done.”

"I can't bail," he tells her, and makes the chopsticks dance between his fingers with a satisfying click. 

“I can take you to lunch,” she says, fondly. “I know it’s not Harlem, but we do have restaurants up here.”

“Let’s go out when you’re back,” he pleads, and tries the last line of defense he has. “Honestly, I’m depleted from working so much. I’m sorry, Eliza, but, like, I really can’t handle your family right now. I need to decompress without your mother around.”

Eliza radiates exasperation through the phone. “They’re your family too, Alex. I know she can be a lot, but I miss you. The kids miss you.”

“We can go to that Italian place,” he tries, “just you and me. The one with the mushroom tagliatelle you like so much. Get some wine, maybe even a hotel room —?”

“We’ll have to get a sitter,” she interjects, to which he replies, “We can ask your sister to do it. I can get her concert tickets as comp.”

She attempts to convince him one last time. “You really can’t come?” His heart contracts. He does want to see her, hold her, kiss her. Wants her to look at him with the exasperated fondness that has come to define their marriage. But he wants _her_ too, so badly. Right this second. All the fucking time. And he can't have them both forever. 

“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” says Alex, and they say their goodbyes.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

  

####

 

Everything she does in preparation is extra, and careful, and extra careful. She scrapes her heels with a pumice stone, and shaves everywhere she can, and tweezes her eyebrows and carefully packs herself a change of underwear, a tank top, and some shorts to sleep in. She puts her toothbrush and face wash in the bag. She leaves it open on the couch, knowing full well that he’ll look through it before she leaves. Her lunch bag, however, hides a tube of expensive red lipstick she’s had since right before her wedding and that smells like cupcakes, her nicest bra and underwear to match, and a sundress, pink and white flowers on a black background, with buttons down the front. It's in the fridge, hiding, harmless. Hopefully it won't do any damage to her lipstick. 

 

####

 

The best part of turning in the final final _final_ draft is the all-expenses paid lunch with his editor, agent, and old friend; the worst part is the unrest of being done. It's like fucking giving birth, the post-partum slump that follows finishing a major project. 

“I'm sure you can find a way to celebrate?” Jimmy says with a frown. “Honestly? I can think of fifteen things you can do in a ten block radius off the top of my head.”

"It won't be any fun by myself," he complains, and turns the menu over to the back side to look at the oysters. They'll get them even though it's the height of summer. Always do. 

“Alex, listen. You’re whining for zero reason.” He shakes his head like he’s disappointed. “How about you let me order, okay? You can talk about this batshit idea that you're a hack for exactly five minutes. Then I'll reassure you between the wine and the oysters. And hopefully when that's done we can talk about something else, like _Empire_ or the rapid turnover at LMQ, or how the wife's got some crazy idea in her head that we're gonna buy a place in Tuscany and fix it up." 

Alex glares at their approaching waiter, who has the dumb smile common to waiters everywhere plastered upon his face. Jimmy orders admirably, and then he gets reassured, and they talk about Tuscany, which sounds like a pain in the ass. 

Outside, Alex lights up while Jimmy waits on getting his car from the valet. He peels off a bunch of twenties from his billfold and passes them over. 

"What's this for?" Alex asks. 

"Buy your wife something nice," Jimmy says, as they pull up with his BMW. "Take her out." 

Alex looks at the crisp money and takes a deeper drag. "I don't need charity." 

Jimmy waves it off as he gets into the car, "You buy next time, then." 

 

####

 

She dresses like she's going to work. No makeup except for mascara and lip balm. Plain underwear, a bra that doesn't gouge into her shoulders, scrubs in industrial green that make her look like the undead. They're not her color, but she's planning to change as soon as she gets there anyways. 

 

_####_

 

_you home_

_yeah did you buzz_

_no let me in_

_k k_

“Hey thanks, man,” he says to Sam as he opens the door. Sam is older than he looks, which isn’t saying all that much, but he comes uptown, and he comes bearing a bag packed with options.

“No worries, no worries.”

“You want something to drink?” Alex asks, hoping that he’ll say no.

“I’m good,” Sam says, taking off his messenger bag and laying it on the dining room table, but not before relocating the bottle of Sliquid which sits smack in the middle of it. Whatever. He's probably seen weirder. He does need to clean, though, before she gets back.

“Got anything good?" he asks, pretending he didn’t see the lube either, like it's normal to keep it next to the fruit bowl and the unopened mail. 

In the end he lays down some of Jimmy’s cash for a tiny bottle of G that's been tinted blue, an eighth of mids, and a chocolate chip cookie that promises an epic body high. 

The G turns out to be a terrible idea, which is too bad. He was hoping they could dose and then fuck, but something about it sits with him wrong. He swallows from the little plastic injector, careful to stay well below the acceptable range, and it hits him right away. 

It’s fun for what’s either forty-five seconds or maybe two hours, and then his legs fall asleep out of nowhere. He rubs his upper thighs and tries to wake them back up, immediately pops a boner, and then feels so nauseated that he has to run to the hallway half bath and puke.

After he’s vomited his head seems to weigh less, and his body seems to hover a few inches off his mattress when he goes to lie down. The room spins when he closes his eyes, so he keeps them open, stares at the ceiling, and thinks about her.

 

####

 

She likes him, and she shouldn’t. Hell, she _can’t_. But it’s so easy to imagine herself into his world, into his life, when he opens the door on Sunday. She’s wearing her plainest scrubs and her tennis shoes, and her hair’s in a ponytail but he kisses her right away and says, “I’m just finishing up a movie, that cool?”

She holds up her lunch bag with its secret contraband. “I’m gonna change.”

“Aw.” He grabs her ass through the fabric and strokes her hair with his free hand. "You have to? This is a cute look on you.”

“My work clothes?” she wrinkles her nose. Anonymous, yes — easy, sure, but no way are they cute. “Actually," she asks, "can I shower?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, “have at.”

“Cool.” She walks past a closed door that she thinks might be a linen closet and turns into the bedroom. He’s changed the sheets. The old set is wadded up on a chair in the corner of the room.

There's bottles everywhere: on the counter, the lip of the tub, the shower rack. Maria uses two different kinds of conditioner simply because she can. Her hair was already clean, scrubbed within an inch of its life before she came over.

When she's done she stands in front of the fogged-up mirror. While she waits for the exhaust fan to clear the steam she opens the medicine cabinet and looks at their combined toiletries. She picks up and sniffs a bottle of perfume that smells like lilacs, another one that reeks of something green and that makes her sneeze. There's an orange one, a little bit spicy, and she spritzes it behind her ears and on her wrists. 

Compacts and bottles and palettes and tubes are neatly arranged in clear acrylic holders. She opens them all, uncaps every lipstick and twists it up to see how it looks against her skin. His wife favors nude lipsticks, Chanel foundations, and Tom Ford eyeshadow quads. Maria uses the eyeshadow and some fancy mascara, which are the only things that suit her. 

He's on the couch where she left him, and he raises an eyebrow at her sundress, which is almost short enough to show the bottom of her underwear if she's careless. She lays down and he takes one of her bare feet in his hands and rubs it as the credits end and the browse screen comes back on. 

 

####

 

They put on jazz and make out on the couch until her stomach rumbles. 

"You hungry?" he asks, and pulls away. 

"I could eat," she answers, "what did you want to get?" 

"We should go out," he says, on a whim. She looks beautiful made-up. He wants other people to see him with her. "Oh, hey, I hope it's not weird? I got you something?" He reaches for the armchair and the plastic carrier bag on it. 

She unfolds the black dress that he bought her with Jimmy's handout and peers at it. Shit, he forgot to take off the price tag.

“Will you wear it?” he asks, nervously. “Do you like it? God, I don’t even know what you like.”

“I like it,” she declares, holding it up against her chest and flashing him her sweet smile. “Let me go try it on.”

She comes back a moment later and it takes his breath away. Her shoulders are so fucking beautiful that he might actually be sick. Her hair is still a little damp from her shower earlier.  

“I have to wear a bra with this," she says, and frowns. There's a cute little crease between her eyebrows that he wants to kiss. 

“You don’t at all,” he tells her, because her tits are perfect: young, and perky, and so goddamn delectable. He wants to take her out and have other men look at her and wonder about him, what he's got, why he's special. He wants to feel her up through the fabric while they sit on the same side of a cozy booth. His dick wakes up instantaneously at that idea. "Like, seriously, you really don’t.”

She turns from side to side in front of the living room mirror and looks down at him. “Where are we going?”

“Wherever,” he says, though that’s not strictly true. They can’t go to _their_ sushi place, _their_ Thai place, or that Italian place either. “There’s a new bistro type thing that opened about a month ago. I haven’t had a chance to try it yet.”

“Then I definitely have to wear a bra,” she says, and puts her hands on her hips. “Two seconds.”

When she comes back from the bathroom the straps are clearly visible on her shoulders. The halter cuts in narrowly and there's no way to hide them. It kinda ruins the effect. 

However, Alex has an idea. “Hang on,” he says, and goes into the linen closet to find the box that contains his battered old jean jacket, the one Eliza has been insisting he chuck since they moved in together. He holds it up by the collar with one finger, holds it out to her. “Will this work?”

She puts it on. It's huge on her, but she rolls the sleeves up and makes it work. 

 

####

 

The waistaff act like they're still in soft launch instead of actual operation for paying customers. The girl fucks up their wine order, brings a Grenache instead of the Beaumes de Venise, stares at him when he dares to point out her obvious mistake, and forgets Maria's salad entirely. He has to ask to have it taken off the check. He tells her about the cookie, so they skip dessert and get coffee instead, which is weak and tastes like filter rather than real French press. But he can't be in a bad mood, not when she holds his hand as they walk back to his place and listen to the sounds of the evening becoming night: reggaeton cranked from open windows, police sirens in the distance, a car backfiring, the rumble of the train beneath the streets. 

 

####

 

Together they sit on his tiny balcony and break off pieces of the cookie. It tastes like a regular cookie, maybe grassier. She doesn't feel anything for a long time until she goes to stand up and then it hits her.

He looks up. "Okay?"

"Mhmm," she says, and pats him on the head as she heads inside. "All good."

She goes into the bathroom to pee and reapplies her lipstick. 

When he finds her several minutes later she's lying on the bed atop the sheets, staring at the ceiling.

"You never came back out," he says, and climbs onto the bed with her. Her stomach swoops as the mattress moves.

"Got distracted," she answers, and reaches for his hand. Their hands intertwine as he moves closer to her. 

“Wait,” she grins, and reaches her hands inside the top of the halter and unfastens her bra. With a wiggle but no tearing of fabric she manages to take it off entirely, and tosses it aside. “That better?”

“You’re too good to me,” says Alex, and touches her reverently as their mouths meet in a kiss. Every once in a while he’ll break away to look down and whimper at the sight. After a while Maria stops him with a hand on his stomach.

“Up,” she tells him, and he does as instructed and kneels on the bed. His voice can barely contain his excitement as she drags a fingernail up and down the fabric covering his fly.

 

####

 

“Oh, shit,” he says, when she goes for his belt buckle and he realizes what she's about to do.

“It’s okay,” she says, unbuttoning his jeans. She bats her eyelashes up at him and fuck if his pretty eyes don’t roll back in his head. “I like doing it.”

It’s easy to do with him. Of course she likes doing it. Simplest thing in the world to get her tits out and make some moaning noises around her mouthful, but goddamn if he’s not an appreciative recipient, which actually does lend the act a certain pleasure.

As does his panting when he tells her, as he pets her hair and looks down with surprised gasps at his lipstick-streaked dick, over and over how hot she is.

 

####

 

She is so hot in this slinky black dress that he bought her, her hair a messy tangle, her eyes teasing and direct. For the first time ever they have no need to hurry, and she sucks him off slowly until he’s pulling on her hair close to her scalp, one hard swallow away from losing it completely.

“Baby,” he warns, “I really want to fuck you, don’t.”

She removes her mouth and replaces it with her hand. “We have all night,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Relax.”

 

####

 

When he comes it’s sticky and she holds it on her tongue, beckons him down to her level so he can kiss her. He swallows it, wide-eyed, and makes a choked noise as he does so. And then like they always do, he ends up on the floor, his hands beneath her knees as she sprawls against the bedspread, arms above her head and grabbing tight to the sheets.

 

####

 

The thigh-high slit on the dress allows him to rub her smooth legs while he goes down on her, and then he pushes it up around her waist, pulls her all the way forward and says, “Can you hold your legs up?”

She grasps behind her knees. “Like that?” she asks.

“Fucking perfect,” says Alex.

 

####

 

James doesn’t give her head unless he’s trying to make up for something, so of course she wants to relish this. 

“Don’t make me come right away,” she says, and when he looks taken aback she says, “Like back off it more?”

“Shit,” he apologizes, “You shoulda told me.”

Maria cups his jaw, “Baby, no, it’s the best. But do me slow tonight. We have time?”

“Okay,” Alex mumbles, and lowers his head bashfully. 

 

####

 

Making her come has always been a challenge to which he is eager to rise. He loves every minute of it — the high-pitched quiver she emits, the way her insides are hot, and spongy, and rigid all at the same time, how her fingers curl around invisible bedsheets even when they fuck on the floor — and so keeping her from coming, preventing that what he most desires, represents the most delicious torture imaginable. 

“Warm me up,” Maria tells him, and adjusts her thighs in her grip.

Alex strokes himself root to tip and then gives her two fingers right away. She’s wet without being loose and from her wince he can see that it stings a little bit. He fingers her slowly, makes little noises of encouragement as she opens up.

A flush of pink radiates from between Maria’s legs almost all the way down her inner thighs. He wants to make it continue to grow and darken, could do that all night with his fingers and mouth and teeth, but instead he says, “Do you want it?”

“Put it in,” she tells him, and when he does his lips purse and her back arches, and it takes only a second before he’s balls deep inside of her and she’s writhing on his dick.

 

####

 

What she wouldn’t do for an extra inch and a half, maybe half an inch more in girth. His cock as it is, but in the next available size up. A medium would do. 

“You fuck me so good,” Maria says, and it’s true. He fucks her like he’s trying to win a prize in a competition only he’s entered, but she’ll take it.

 

####

 

She’s so tight, so tiny. Never pushed a kid out once or C-sectioned twice. She's got a cunt like she's twenty, makes him feel like he's twenty.

Alex groans wordlessly as he thrusts. After she’s taking him nicely and he wants to hear her he ask for it he says, breathless, “Can you? Do you want to?”

“Back up,” she says, and turns over onto her hands and knees. His dick slips out and he cups it protectively in his hand. “Get the thing?” she says, and he hangs over the side of the bed and grabs the wand.

“I love that,” she says, nodding over her shoulder. “I need one of my own.”

“Here,” Alex says, and positions it so she’s holding it. “You drive.”

 

####

 

He knocks her forward onto the top of the vibrator with every thrust, and Maria has to switch it off completely a couple of times because she doesn’t want to come too soon, wants it to last forever.

Maria grits her teeth and bears down. Alex’s hand is on her hip, pulling her back onto him, and his other hand draws soothing circles on her back as she arches into his thrusts. The dress has been rucked up so far up her waist and so low down on her chest that at this point it forms a silky black bundle around her belly.

“God,” he groans, “Love fucking you.”

He hits something deep, sending her head down in the direction of the mattress as shivers build across her abdomen.

 

####

 

She comes twice, once with the vibrator and the second time without it. It buzzes on the bed beside them as she rakes her fingers through her own hair, pulling it away from her face and over her shoulder. 

 “Shit,” says Alex, transfixed by the sight of it. The reddened flush of his own dick, the way her spine undulates from side to side as he fucks her, how when he touches her between her legs his hand comes away soaking wet.

 

####

 

Her ass had always been off-limits until he came along. First it was a wayward finger while he went down on her, and then it was sucking on the hard piece of flesh just below her asshole, and from there it was only a little ways up for his mouth to be on her, and from there it all progressed naturally, and it was wonderful.

It hurts a little bit when the head pops in, but she's been worked over and warmed up enough that it only takes a few seconds until the pain dissipates. He's gentle, slicks her up, tells her how good she is, how good she takes him, and he covers her hands with his own as their bodies sway together. 

 

####

 

“In me,” she gasps, when it's immanent, and he answers, “You want me to come in you, baby?”

She says _yes, wait, no._ “Fingers,” pants Maria, and he reaches below her and gives her two back inside. No sooner has he touched her then her ass goes wild, clenching so hard around him that he’s in danger of losing his circulation.

“You coming for me?” he asks, and speeds up his pace.

“Oh fuck,” Maria gasps, and reaches for the vibrator again. “Fuck, fuck.”

 

####

 

It barely registers, that's how warm she is all the way from her clit to her tailbone, but he tightens his fingers as he grabs her ass and then pitches forward with his head between her shoulderblades. The tangled dress only adds to her overheated state, yet she keeps it on as he pulls out, and moves her legs a little further apart, and licks her delicately clean.

 

####

At last he slides the dress off over her head and turns her over onto her back. Her eyes are heavy and her makeup has smudged from the sweat seeping off her forehead. He finds her a t-shirt from the floor and flicks off the bedside lights. She falls asleep in his arms, although she kicks and wriggles so much it takes him a long time to follow her there.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr being a bad person [@pitcherplant.](pitcherplant.tumblr.com)


End file.
